


Forbidden Fruit

by Fyre



Series: Hunger [17]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels with Genitalia, Food Kink, Light Bondage, Love, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Outdoor Sex, Picnics, Strap-Ons, Temptation, Tipsy angel, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 07:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20903771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: “I could have you begging for a bite of an apple if I wanted,” Crowley says after a moment.Aziraphale opens his eye the narrowest of cracks. “I hardly think so, my dear. Offering me knowledge won’t get you anywhere. I know far more than you.”Crowley’s teeth flash white between his lips. “Didn’t say I’d use knowledge.”Oh. Oh, that’s… intriguing.And too close to tempting…





	Forbidden Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my head for a fortnight. You're welcome.

“I like picnics,” Aziraphale declares.

“Couldn’t tell,” Crowley replies with a laugh. He’s sitting, cross-legged, on the blanket, leaning back on his hands, face turned up to the sun. He looks quite, quite lovely. His eyes shine like polished golden coins and his hair is… is… is _very, very_ lovely.

Aziraphale takes another sip from his champagne flute. They’ve had rather a lot of it, he must admit, but it _is_ an anniversary after all and anniversaries require celebration. Summer turning to autumn and yet another year since they– since the airfield and all that followed.

It’s a lovely day too. All warm sunshine and the scent of mown lawns and crisp apples and the faint tang of the sea.

He smiles as he sets the glass down and shuffles across the blanket, careful not to tip over the last of the bottles or those charming little muffins Crowley made.

Crowley looks at him with one of those not-quite-hiding smiles. “Looking for something?”

Aziraphale gives him a happy kiss on the nose. “You.” He subsides down to lie on his back, resting his head in Crowley’s lap, wiggling a little to make himself comfortable. “Ah. Wonderful.”

Crowley doesn’t wait anymore, not to touch, and his fingers curl in Aziraphale’s hair, stroking gently. “Comfy?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale closes his eyes, pressing his bare feet into the grass.

Normally, he wouldn’t dare to be so underdressed out of doors, but they’re safely tucked away in their own garden, surrounded by their hedges, so being barefoot and without his jacket is fine. He even has his sleeves rolled up and now, he can feel Crowley gently tugging his tie loose.

It whispers away under his collar, and all at once, that it unbuttoned too. One button, two, three, enough for Crowley to slip his hand into Aziraphale’s shirt. Doesn’t go anywhere. Just rests there, cool and gentle against his skin.

Lord, he does so love moments like this, when the world falls away and it’s them alone.

“Can you teach me?” he murmurs, as Crowley’s fingers draw indolent circles on his skin.

“Hm?”

He opens one drowsy eye. “Muffins. I can never seem to make them properly.”

Crowley tugs his hair gently. “I don’t see how me telling you is going to get different results, angel. We use the same recipe book.” He pats Aziraphale’s chest. “Mind you, it does help if you don’t scarf down all the chocolate chips before you start.”

Aziraphale juts out his lip. “I only did that once or twice.”

“Yeah right.” Crowley taps him pointedly on the chest. “I know you, you greedy bugger.”

It is, unfortunately, true. No. Not unfortunately. Delightfully.

“Maybe if you… show me,” he suggested. “Some hands-on tuition?”

Crowley makes a peculiar noise, somewhere between a snort and a cough. Aziraphale peers up at him, bemused, and sees the familiar shade of red the demon has gone.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake!” Still, he can’t help giggling now that he thinks of it. It wouldn’t be the first time they have made a frightful mess with food. He reaches up, drawing a loose strand of Crowley’s hair over his shoulder, curling it around his finger. “I like your hair like this.”

The small smile is back. “I know, angel.”

Aziraphale shakes his head a little. “No, this especially. Like Mesopotamia. I thought– I rather thought it looked like fire in the sun. Burnished bronze.” He rubs it against his cheek. “Magical.”

Crowley raises his eyebrows. “And I think you’ve had a bit too much of the plonk.”

“Mm.” Aziraphale nods. “Just the right amount.” He closes his eyes and lies there contentedly, Crowley’s fingers soft and light on his skin. The wind breathes through the trees, leaves rustling, and the scent of apples reaches him again. “Darling?”

“Mm?”

“May I ask you something?”

“Course.”

“It’s awfully silly…”

Crowley taps his thumb on Aziraphale’s collarbone. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

Aziraphale laughs. It’s very true. They have done some really quite ridiculous things in their time. “I was only wondering… you know the first time?”

“First time?” The red is back in Crowley’s face.

“No, no, no, you dirty beast!” Aziraphale flaps a hand. “Apples!”

“I have never been more confused than I am right now, angel.”

Aziraphale gives him a prim look, which he feels is quite impressive given his supine position. “I sincerely doubt that.” He points further down the garden towards their apple tree which is now heavy with fruit. “Apples! When what’s-her-name took one!” Crowley looks even more bemused. “You _know_! The garden! Before we met!”

“Ohhh!” Crowley bursts out laughing. “Well, that was a trip to get to your point.” He pauses, frowning. “Wait. Which first time of what?”

“How?”

Crowley gently pokes him. “How did I _what_?”

Aziraphale huffs impatiently. “How” –he enunciates very carefully, because Crowley is clearly far too tipsy to understand anything but little small words–“did you make her take the apple?”

Golden eyes blink at him. “_That_ first time?” He scrunches up his face and shrugs. “Told her it would give her knowledge and stuff.”

Aziraphale considers this from all angles. Knowledge is good, it’s true, but if you didn’t _know_ that, it would hardly make any sense. “Hardly a compelling argument.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Crowley snorts.

Aziraphale folds his hands over his middle. “Well,” he says smugly, “it wouldn’t have worked on me, you wily old serpent.”

Crowley goes very, very still, like a snake that has just seen a mouse. “S’that so?”

“Mm.” he closes his eyes again, quite content to resume his halfway to a nap state.

“I could have you begging for a bite of an apple if I wanted,” Crowley says after a moment.

Aziraphale opens his eye the narrowest of cracks. “I hardly think so, my dear. Offering me knowledge won’t get you anywhere. I know _far_ more than you.”

Crowley’s teeth flash white between his lips. “Didn’t say I’d use knowledge.”

Oh. Oh, that’s… intriguing.

And too close to tempting…

“No, no. I’m quite fine.” He closes his eyes firmly.

“Ssssssa shame.”

Crowley twists his legs out from beneath Aziraphale’s head and all at once, he’s not touching anywhere anymore and that will not do! Aziraphale sits up indignantly but his words die on his lips at the sight of Crowley standing on the far side of the blanket, under the apple tree. Barefoot on the grass, black robes as worn and ragged as they were that day, wings unfurled.

He grins, eyes shining. “Let’s play a game, angel.” He reaches up and runs his fingertips around the curve of one of the plump red apples. “Prove I can’t tempt you.”

Aziraphale opens and shuts his mouth. “Obviously you can’t!” he sputters indignantly, but he can’t help admire the way Crowley’s sleeve is slipping down his arm, baring it to the elbow.

Crowley raises his eyebrows. “Prove it. Show me what you would have done in Eve’s place.” He feigns a pout. “Or are you scared I’ll win? Is that why you don’t want to play?”

“I _beg_ your pardon!”

“Must be it,” Crowley sighs sadly, sending the apple twirling with a twitch of his fingers. “Shame.” His lips are twitching. “Never took you for a coward, angel.”

Oh, the cheeky bugger!

Aziraphale gets to his feet, only swaying a little bit. “How _dare_ you!” he declares, puffing up with all his indignation. “Very well! We’ll play your… silly little game and I’ll show you exactly who can resist your temptations!”

“I’m sure you will,” Crowley says, but he looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

Aziraphale picks his way around the blanket to join Crowley beneath the spreading branches of the tree. He puts out his chin and laces his fingers in front of him, an immovable rock in the face of the incoming tide of temptation. “Well,” he says, inclining his head. “Go on.”

Crowley’s eyes drift down and Aziraphale fidgets as Crowley scours him with his stare.

“Not quite… authentic, are you?” the demon says. “You have an advantage.”

Aziraphale blinks at him, befuddled. “I’m sorry?”

Crowley slinks closer, reaching up to curl a finger over the v of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. “A little… overdressed, aren’t you?”

Oh! Of course! Only right that he starts in the same state as the humans did. It wouldn’t be a fair competition otherwise.

He snaps unfolds his hands and snaps his fingers down at once.

Crowley’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Gneeee?”

Aziraphale peers down at himself. “Do you think I ought to have a bosom this time? Would that be a mitigating factor?” Crowley is opening and shutting his mouth without making a sound, which Aziraphale takes as agreement, so he concentrates and adjusts himself to be a… little more like Eve than usual. He cups the soft enhancements on his chest, giving them a thoughtful squeeze. “You know, they are rather nice…”

“GNK!!”

Aziraphale beams at him. He’s gone all pink and that usually means he’s thinking naughty thoughts. “Do you like them, my darling?”

Crowley nods, still staring. “Just had to whip them out now, didn’t you?” he says weakly. “Fuck me, angel… that’s cheating.”

Aziraphale wiggles smugly. “I thought I ought to match Eve, you see.”

Crowley nods. “Yeah. I see that. Top to bottom.” He clears his throat. “Right. Yeah. So. Apples.” He sniffs and clears his throat again, then reaches up and tugs one of the apples off the branch. “Yeah. Right. Um. Apples. Apples are… apples are _great_.”

Aziraphale laughs. “Oh, very tempting!”

Crowley glowers at him. “Look! You’re all... naked and distracting!” he complains. “I’ve never seen you naked in daylight before!”

“You _have_!”

“Indoors! Not the same.” Crowley gives him a helpless, soft smile. “You _shine_, angel.”

Oh. Oh my.

Aziraphale presses his clasped hands to his lips. “Oh stop that.”

One side of Crowley’s mouth crooks up. “Only true.” He leans closer and brushes Aziraphale’s hands down from his face. “Don’t hide. I like looking at you.”

Aziraphale can feel the flush spreading across his cheeks and wiggles his toes in the grass. “Lord…”

“You’re so… _lovely_…” Crowley breathes, stepping that little bit closer, one foot slipping between Aziraphale’s, and oh, oh Lord, the rasp of his homespun robes against the bare skin of Aziraphale’s legs draws a shaky breath from the angel’s lips.

“M’not an apple,” Aziraphale presses the words out, when all he really wants to do is press in. “Not how you tempt me.”

Crowley watches him, thoughtfully, unblinking, then tucks the apple away in his robe and snaps his fingers.

The long silken scarves from the throne appear in his hand, shimmering like gold webs in the sunlight. Aziraphale’s heart gives a happy skip.

“I think,” Crowley says, holding one up, “your hands might betray you, don’t you? I mean, you’ve snatched food from my plate often enough without noticing. Who knows? You might even snatch an apple from my hands and that…” He winces. “Well, that would just spoil the game, wouldn’t it?”

Aziraphale suspects he ought to be offended, but it’s nothing more nor less than the truth. “I’m not letting you win because I’m distracted,” he declares, then glances around the garden. “There’s no chair, darling.”

“No,” Crowley agrees and his smile is more serpentine than ever and he strikes just as fast, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him close and kissing him. The cloth – oh Lord above – scrapes against Aziraphale’s plump new extremities in a rather delicious way and he grasps at Crowley, fingers sinking into the demon’s hair.

It looks, he suspects, terribly debauched as he rubs his soft breasts against the flat planes of Crowley’s chest, but the thoughts scatter when Crowley shifts his leg, pushing his foot forward and his thigh – and the heavy robes covering it – run the length of Aziraphale’s inner thigh and Oh _Lord_…

“There you are,” Crowley breathes, nuzzling his way from Aziraphale’s lips to the curve of his jaw. With gentle presses of his thigh, he nudges Aziraphale slowly, slowly back and Aziraphale hooks his fingers into the demon’s back, trying to rock his hips closer, but stumbling, stumbling, until his back collides with something solid and rough.

He startles, blinking and oh…

“Plenty of branches to hold onto,” Crowley murmurs against his throat. “Reach up, angel. Grab them. Both hands.”

The apple tree curves over them, a canopy tantalisingly hung with the ripe temptations Crowley is offering him. The scent is smothering and mouth-watering and oh, the demon is such a wicked little cheat. Still, beating him on his terms will be so much more satisfying.

He leans back into the trunk and grasps two sturdy branches above his head, the movement arching his back and he feels more than hears Crowley’s groan as plump, soft breasts grind against him. Enough of a bastard, Aziraphale thinks happily, then forgets utterly about thinking as Crowley leans up to lash each wrist in place and in doing so, oh his thigh _rubs_…

“Two can play,” Crowley murmurs into another kiss.

Aziraphale nips at his lip for spite, which merges into another soft groan as Crowley sinks back down and steps back to admire his handiwork.

“Comfy?” he asks, his cheeks all warm and pink.

Aziraphale tears his eyes from the blushing demon to look up. Like golden shackles, the scarves are wound around each wrist and he tries them, feeling the gentle pressure that is meant to restrain but not to pain. “Everso,” he replies happily, flexing his fingers around the branch. He wets his lips. “You said something about tempting me?”

Crowley watches him with those lovely honey-drop eyes and rubs his thumb along his lower lip. “I could just sit and look at you, angel,” he says. “Fuck, you are _beautiful_.”

Aziraphale can feel the colour race to his cheeks, but with his hands bound, there’s nothing to cover it. “Oh, _Crowley_,” he protests, looking anywhere else, which only means all he can see is apples, apples, apples. Oh! Oh, damn him, he really is a frightfully sneaky bastard.

“Problem?” Crowley purrs, suddenly close, his hand cupping Aziraphale’s cheek.

Aziraphale lifts his chin defiantly. “Not at all. Absolutely ticketty-bOH!”

Crowley’s eyes dance and slides two fingers slowly, firmly around Aziraphale’s rather… attentive nipple. Oh, that’s… that’s a little more… rather more than…

“Sensitive, eh?” He gives a gentle pinch and Aziraphale arches helplessly onto his toes, pushing against his hand. Crowley’s lips curl up wickedly. “Good to know.” His other hand slides over Aziraphale’s hip, spreading on his back. “So… angel… let’s set the rules, shall we?”

“R-rules?” It’s awfully… it’s… Lord, how can he expect someone to think when he’s rubbing his fingers just _so_?

“No ‘too fast’ this time,” Crowley says, the tip of his nose grazing Aziraphale’s. “F’you have enough, you want to give up, you just have to ask me for the apple.”

“That won’t happen,” Aziraphale says, aiming for stoutly and certainly not hitting it.

Crowley moves his foot forward and Aziraphale is pinned to the tree, a warm thigh… oh _Heavens_…

“What do you have to ask for?” Crowley murmurs, curling his fingers enough to now-sharp nails prick Aziraphale’s skin in the most delightful way. Between the thigh, the fingers and the nails, Aziraphale takes a moment to catch the questions. “Aziraphale. Answer me.”

“The apple,” he breathes, unable to keep himself from pressing closer to Crowley’s thigh. “But I won’t.”

Crowley touches a feathersoft kiss to his lips. “Never say never, my love.”

Aziraphale stares at him wonderingly. He really is far too lovely, with the eyes and the hair and the ‘my love’. Lord, at least the temptation is only an apple. Nothing at all hard about resisting an apple, not when there is something far more tantalising on display.

“I think,” he says, his mouth dry, “I can manage.”

Crowley reaches into his robe, producing the apple. It’s perfect, round and ripe and red.

Of course it is. The garden is Crowley’s domain. Nothing in it would dare to be anything less than perfect.

He curls his finger, his nail cutting through the skin. The sweet scent of apple becomes a great deal sharper. Crowley withdraws his nail and darts his forked tongue out, lapping the juice from his fingertip. Oh, he takes his time with it and Aziraphale can imagine a thousand and one other uses for that tongue.

“You sure?” Crowley prompts, holding the apple close to his lips. “Go on, angel. Just a little bite…”

Aziraphale tightens his hold on the branches. “I’m fine, thank you,” he says. “I have no desire for an apple.”

Crowley shrugs expressively with that same half-smile Aziraphale remembers from that first day on the wall. “Fair enough.” The apple vanishes into his robes again and abruptly, his palm presses to Aziraphale’s breast, rubbing in a slow circle. “S’pose I can’t win them all.”

“No,” Aziraphale agrees, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. It presses him more firmly to Crowley’s hand and oh, the sensation is really quite different. How very… very…

Crowley’s fingers squeeze, firmly enough to make Aziraphale hiss through his teeth. “Very different, aren’t they?” he says thoughtfully. “I mean, than usual. Look at this…” He moves his hand and rubs his thumb and Lord, Aziraphale can feel the other nipple harden and oh so much more notably. “Does it feel different?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale nods, knocking his head back against the tree trunk. “Rather. Yes.”

“How about…” The hand is gone and Aziraphale’s head whips up, eyes wide, at the flutter of a forked tongue across one nipple. Barely anything, a whisper, a flicker, a breath of contact, but oh _Christ_…

Crowley’s eyes are molten fire and he cups Aziraphale’s breast, gazing up at him, as he _tastes_ every part. “Tastes different,” he murmurs and Aziraphale tries to gather words, but they fall apart entirely when Crowley’s lips close around his nipple and he _sucks_. It’s like a bolt of fire from his lips to the throbbing heat between Aziraphale’s legs, driving the air from him.

“Oh, I _like_ that,” Crowley purrs and Lord have mercy, catches Aziraphale by the waist, trapping him and suckling and licking with greedy abandon, moving from one breast to the other. Hand on one, lips on the other, too many sensations and the heat of Crowley’s breath, the silk of his hair sliding in cascades and his leg is still between Aziraphale’s, but not… it’s not pressing now, but oh, he can feel it there, warm and close if he could just…

It’s – Lord – sweet _Jesus_… he might even… Lord, he feels so very–

Gone.

Nothing touching him. No one touching him.

A crunch of ripe fruit makes his eyes fly wide.

He sags against the tree, startled, as if he has been doused with ice water. “_Crowley_!”

The demon gives him an awkward look. “Ot?” he asks around a mouthful of apple.

Aziraphale stares at him in disbelief. “I– you were _busy_!”

Crowley glowers accusingly at the apple. “S’a bloody good apple,” he says defensively. “It tasted nice. I fancied a bite!”

Aziraphale opens and shuts his mouth indignantly. “But you were–”

“Oh! Shit!” The apple vanishes back into Crowley’s robes. “Right! Yes!” He sweeps back in again and slides his arm around Aziraphale’s waist, bringing his face close. “You know what I’m like.” He brushes his lips chastely against Aziraphale’s, his tongue flickering in invitation, and Lord, Aziraphale can’t stay angry with his blessed demon. He parts his lips to the kiss and at once, his mouth is flooded with the sweetness of apple along with the teasing, flickering stroke of Crowley’s tongue. It’s… well, he’s _right_ about it being a bloody good apple and Aziraphale cannot help but lap at his mouth for a taste.

Even as he does, he feels the slither of fingers across his skin, curling around a breast, teasing over his nipple, weaving lower, dipping into his navel, lower and lower still, and he breaks from the kiss with a small gasp as Crowley cups his sex.

“Christ, angel…” Crowley whispers against his mouth, his breath sweet and warm, “you’re _really_ enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Well, I _was_,” Aziraphale says with a sniff.

Crowley chuckles, running his fingers along the soft, thrumming skin. “‘Was’, he says.” He withdraws his fingers, slick and wet. He gives Aziraphale a heated look, then licks each finger, which makes Aziraphale’s stomach twist in all kinds of marvellous ways. “Doesn’t taste like ‘was’ to me, angel…”

Aziraphale shifts his weight, that wonderful heavy heat returning. “You may need to check,” he says hoarsely. “To be sure.”

Crowley dips his hand down again, stroking slowly with his fingers. Too slowly, Aziraphale thinks, squirming against his hand demandingly. Too gentle. “Like this?” the demon says, all wide-eyed innocence and air-soft touches.

“Crowley!”

“Ah!” A flash of teeth is all the warning he gets before Crowley’s fingers press into his body and the heel of his hand rubs just _so_. “Better?”

Aziraphale nods, gasping, teetering on his toes. The pressure is quite breath-taking, but Crowley’s hand is utterly still, just… just… _resting_ there. Not moving. No push, nor pull, nor come and go. Crowley’s other hand is gone again and what the Hell is he playing–

Crunch.

Aziraphale rolls his head sideways. “_Crowley_…” he growls.

The demon is wide-eyed, his hand halfway back into his robes, and one cheek is plumped like a chipmunk’s. “Mm?”

“Did you stop for that god-damned _apple_?”

Crowley hastily moves the contents of his cheek, chewing and swallowing. “No?”

Aziraphale opens his mouth to argue, but Crowley claims it instead, kissing the breath from him, flecks of apple still on his tongue. His hand moves and Aziraphale groans against his lips as two fingers thrust in and out and the steady rolling rub of the heel of his hand reignites the throbbing heat.

“Like that?” Crowley breathes against his lips.

Aziraphale nods, rocking against his hand. “_More_.”

Crowley flashes his devil’s smile and descends. Azirphale’s breaths turn sharp, his fingers clenching around the boughs overhead as Crowley launches a fresh assault against his aching nipples. Lips and tongue and Lord, even teeth. And all the while his hand is moving, making him totter on his toes, writhing more and more urgently, every cell of his body curling towards that crest of a wave, so very close, his breath short, his head light and his…

“Crowley! No!”

The hands and mouth and touches are gone again and Aziraphale stares down.

Crowley is kneeling at his feet, eyes wide and innocent, sucking one of his shining slick fingers clean, then another. And then he reaches into his robe.

“Don’t you dare,” Aziraphale wails. “Don’t you dare stop, you absolute bastard!”

The apple remerges and that damned wicked tongue flickers across it, sending sparks of greedy want through Aziraphale’s shivering desperately hungry body.

“Crowley, _please_,” Aziraphale groans. He squeezes his thighs together, seeking some pressure, some friction, _something_. “For Heaven’s sake!”

Crowley only smiles, using a needle-sharp nail to curve a sliver of apple from the exposed white flesh. He lifts it on a fingertip, examining it. “You know you just have to ask for a taste, angel,” he says, then meets Aziraphale’s eyes as he coils his tongue to snatch the fruit from his fingertip

“Oh you…” Aziraphale moans. “You cheating _bastard_!” Crowley shrugs with a wicked smile and flutters his tongue into the hole he has carved in the apple. Aziraphale can imagine it, he can almost _feel_ it on his skin. “Crowley, _please_!”

Apple-sweet lips press to his thigh. “Open up, then, angel…”

Panting with relief, Aziraphale lets his legs fall apart and Crowley slides forward to kneel between them, his face at the most perfect of angles. But at once, Aziraphale realises his mistake. His thighs are apart. There is no pressure, no friction, _nothing_. Crowley is kneeling there, smug as a cat with the cream, and turning the apple over and over in his hand.

“Don’t… don’t…” Aziraphale hopes it sounds like a warning, but Lord, his voice is shivering and his whole body _needs_ some kind of release, respite, _something_.

“I’m being very kind to you,” Crowley murmurs, wrapping one arm around Aziraphale’s plump thigh, his fingers dancing in tantalising circles. “I’ve brought you so much pleasure, haven’t I?”

“Almost,” Aziraphale protests. “Crowley, please, just… just finish, will you?”

A snake-like strike makes him gasp, head knocking back against the trunk, as Crowley’s mouth sinks between his thighs and that marvellous, wonderful tongue explores him, flickering and fluttering and teasing him until he’s all but rutting on Crowley’s face, soft, helpless panted gasps tripping across his lips. His whole body is thrumming like a plucked string, resonating down to his toes and, only one more–

Cool air strikes damp flesh and he’s bare, exposed, untouched again, a strangled cry of outrage catching in his throat.

“See, here’s the thing,” Crowley says, leaning back on his hand, grinning wide and wet. “I’m easily distracted, I am.”

“You–” Aziraphale moans. “You don’t even _like_ apples!”

Crowley takes a bite. The juice runs down his chin. Mixes with the wetness already there. His tongue sneaks out, lapping it all, Aziraphale and apple, up. “Oh but this is a _good_ one.” He licks the juice from his hand, tongue coiling around his wrist to catch every drop and Aziraphale’s body gives a wanton, demanding twitch in its direction.

“You… you _can’t_ tempt me,” Aziraphale insists, but even he has to admit he doesn’t sound all that convinced anymore. Lord, he’s so very close and his hands are _aching_ on the branches. Would it be so bad to give in? To let Crowley win this one, if it means… “You _bastard_…”

Crowley leans forward, his face so close that when he blows and soft cool gust of air, Aziraphale feels it like ice on his throbbing, aching, burning skin.

“Crowley!”

Crowley rests his cheek against Aziraphale’s quivering thigh. “Here’s the thing, angel,” he says with a hot sigh that sends goosebumps pricking all over Aziraphale’s treacherous body. “I’m a finish-one-thing-at-a-time kind of demon…”

The cool flesh of the apple brushes against Aziraphale’s other thigh and he whines, writhing as Crowley licks the smear of fresh juice from his skin.

“So,” Crowley says between thoughtful, lazy licks. “I can finish the apple or…” He slips his hand down and draws up his robe, giving the angel a glimpse of leather and metal around his hip. Oh _Lord_. His – it’s the harness– the straps– the–

The sound that escapes Aziraphale’s throat is utterly inhuman.

Crowley gives Aziraphale an utterly filthy smile, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Or I can finish you…”

Aziraphale keens, shaking his head, pressing his eyes shut. No, no, no, no. It’s a matter of _principle_. He’s an _angel_. He should be able to resist any temptation!

A long finger strokes between his thighs, enough to tease, but oh, Lord, not enough to…

He rocks his hips, shivering. Hears the whisper of cloth, feels it against his skin.

“It’s all right, angel,” Crowley croons, lips close to his ear. “S’all right. You can give in. It’s only me. Only me. No one will know. Just you and me here, sweetheart.” Fabric against his thighs, then bare skin, and the press of something hard and familiar low against his belly. “It’s only me, my love. Only me. Only us.”

Aziraphale opens his eyes, his vision blurred with heat. Only us. Our side. Different rules. Different world.

Crowley smiles at him, soft and warm and just for him. “Shall we?” he asks, offering to apple.

Aziraphale’s world is held in those golden eyes. There doesn’t have to be resistance anymore. Six damned millennia of trying to resist the inexorable, exhilarating feeling that wells in him every time he looks at Crowley.

He nods, parting his lips, and is close enough to feel Crowley’s small gasp, see the blush of desire and pleasure that suffuses the demon’s face. Crowley licks his lips as Aziraphale’s teeth break through the flesh of the apple, the fruit as sweet and delicious as he knew it would be. His head falls back, eyes pressing closed as the flavours – all the better for the wait – burst on his tongue.

And Crowley’s hands are beneath him, hitching up his thighs and his groan over the fruit turns into an aching moan as Crowley thrusts into him, lifting him hard against the apple tree. It takes only one, two, three deep hard presses and his whole body is alight, branches creaking and cracking, gasping breaths caught against Crowley’s lips.

“Let go,” Crowley urges, hands squeezing hips rocking. “Let go, angel.”

Aziraphale can only keen breathlessly, drowning in it all, the taste on his lips, the heat of the body grinding against his, robes coarse and ragged, silk tight and wonderful, the bark rough and around them the dark blanket of Crowley’s wings.

“Crowley!”

“I’m here, love,” Crowley nuzzles his jaw, his throat, pulling him closer. “Again, love, again…”

Hand between them, fingers…

Oh Lord…

Aziraphale’s whole body _burns_, arching in a silent, breathless cry, as the world goes white and dark at once.

Soft, hot breaths in his ear welcome him back.

Crowley is plastered to him, holding him warm and steady. Tree at his back, cords at his wrists, the… toy still deep and snug and…

He squeezes his thighs against Crowley’s hips, wordless greeting.

Crowley makes a small, happy sound, licking at his throat. Catching salt of sweat, Aziraphale thinks, giving a weak moan as Crowley starts rocking his hips again. The thrum is still there, a fingertip on a crystal, bone deep and delicious. It takes little to raise the pitch and intensity and Aziraphale plummets again, lost in it all.

When his senses return again, his aching arms are free and his head is resting on Crowley’s shoulder, his body utterly limp and spent. Around them, black wings form a soft, warm mantle and Crowley’s trembling fingers stroke the length of his back.

“All good?” Crowley murmurs when Aziraphale lets out a small, quivering sigh.

“Mm.” Aziraphale nudges his brow against Crowley’s chin. “Very.”

He can hear the mischief in his lover’s voice when Crowley murmurs, “Hungry?”

He smiles, knowing exactly what he’s stepping into. “Mm.”

Crowley unfurls a hand in front of his nose and – of course – there is the apple.

With no little effort, Aziraphale takes it in his shaking hand. The bruises at his wrists are quite spectacular, he notices. Crowley cups his hand under Aziraphale’s, steadying it gently and Aziraphale takes another small bite. It really _is_ a perfect apple, crisp and sweet and sharp.

“Crowley,” he murmurs, several bites later.

“Mm?”

“A question.”

Crowley tilts his head, no doubt looking down at him. “Another one?”

Aziraphale lifts his head, still pleasantly wobbly, and widens his eyes. “You… didn’t do that with Eve, did you?”

And, as the demon goes purple and horrified, he beams at him.

“Oh you!” Crowley sputters in outrage, though the tell-tale twitches of a grin tug at his mouth. “You absolute _bastard_.”

“Mm,” Aziraphale agrees happily, letting his head fall to rest again on Crowley’s shoulder. It really does take one to know one.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my nonsense, I can be found on [tumblr](https://amuseoffyre.tumblr.com/) :)


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